LJ Idol X.20 - Behind the Masks, Find the Soul
I could feel his little feet kicking in my belly, kicking, kicking, kicking... incessantly, constantly, dear God this child is never still and he's not even born yet.
"That means he's growing stronger, aren't you glad?"
Of course I'm glad! I'd be devastated if something happened!
But something about feeling this child of mine move, live, grow... holy fuck. I mean, HOLY FUCK.
He is due in three months and suddenly, where before he was an idea, he is real.
And, ladies and gentlemen, I am unsure whether to be ashamed of the fact that I had a total freak out about it.
****
I'd been fighting with my aunt about my dad. And she was ranting and raving about the chaos her adult children and grandchildren are causing her, and I heard it as, "Make the same mistakes so I don't feel so goddam guilty." And I panicked, because what if...
What if I do pass down all the things I've spent 20 years trying to overcome? What if my legacy isn't progressive thought, but crippling anxiety? What if I raise an incompetent man-child who will expect his future wife/husband to do all of the emotional heavy lifting? Or chores? Or what if he's so emotionally stunted, that he never even risks looking for a spouse?
What if I cannot shield him from the negative qualities of his father's family? What if he refuses to accept reality and instead insists on rose colored glasses that show a pack of lies? What if we never figure out how to cope with the inherited OCD that may come from that line? What if they win his thoughts and he believes in the status quo?
****
And since I'm panicking about everything, while sitting on the edge of the guest bath tub, crying my eyes out at 3 a.m. while everyone (including the cat) sleeps blissfully unaware - let's just go on down the rabbit hole.
What if my SO dies? Can I raise this baby alone? Can I afford that? Can I handle that? Can I not fall apart at the seems, when the thought alone has me hysterical (and keep in mind that the SO is healthy and fine and sleeping, unaware that I'm no longer curled in his arms)?
What if I lose my job? I'm the breadwinner. How the fuck will we survive? How we will make ends meet? What if I lose my house? Where will we live? Where will we go?
What if I get sick? My immune system is compromised, so it's not so crazy a thought. How will the SO raise him? Will he insist on the same things I would have? Will he teach apathy and expecting others to take care of him is ok? (I love my SO, but I'm not blind to him.)
Hell, what if the SO just decides to leave? He swears he won't, but no one goes into a baby thinking that they are destined to be single parents. What if he walks away, care-free and scott-free and leaves me with the day to day struggles of raising a son? Will I be able to handle my own bitterness and not teach my son to hate his father? Will I be able to deal with the resentment that might arise from having no freedom, while the SO has it all? Will I be able to teach grace in the face of rage?
****
Is this hormones? Is this normal? Am I a total freak? Am I having a psychotic break? WTF is happening to me right now???
****
Eventually, I calmed down and went back to bed. I sat down on the side and took a few deep breaths. If I was lucky, I'd get maybe 3 hours of sleep before I had to be up. The boyfriend rolls over, groggy, "You okay?" he asks.
"I can't sleep," I say in response, neither lying nor being totally honest, but he's so cute when he's sleepy and I can tell him about the details later.
"Poor pumpkin," he pulls me down and into him, warm and comforting, his arms providing me a respite from the storm raging in my mind, and I bury my face in his chest. His breathing turns into snores, and to my surprise, I feel sleep climbing out of the abyss to claim me. Willingly, I fall into it.
"Be happy with what you have. Don't worry about the future." It's advice, so freely given by so many, and it mocks me as I slip into unconsciousness.
But really, what choice do I have?
****
The next day, in the gray overcast light that leaked in through the bedroom window, I ignored the people in my house for 30 minutes and climbed into the SO's arms and told him all the things that had tormented me the night before.
Open and honest communication. It's a goal in my house. It's a standard. It's often impossible and I often fail, because I would gladly suffer physical mutilation before I would be vulnerable this way.
I have screwed my courage to the sticking point, however, and I sob into his shoulder as quietly as I could so I wouldn't alert the others as to my current state of complete mental fall apart. He listens non-judgmentally, hugging me and rubbing my back.
"Are you afraid of losing me?" he asks.
"Not usually," I say back. And it's true. 95% of the time, I know that he isn't leaving me and that even if he did, I'd be fine.
"There's only one thing that will take me away," he promises and I nod. I believe him - at least, I believe his intention. Goddamn baggage from my own past is heavy and is threatening to fall out of the closet I've packed it in. "What we teach our son is our choice," he reassures me. "Do you not think you'll be a good mother?"
BAM. There it is. The FEAR that I couldn't even name the night before, cold and hard and unyielding.
"I do," he says, when I start crying harder. "I've spent my whole life looking for the woman I wanted to have babies with. I found her. You're her. You'll do a wonderful job. You've helped raise your godsons and they are happy, fun, well-adjusted kids."
The rewards of open and honest communication - faith, trust, reassurance, courage.
I was out.
Thankfully, he had enough for the both of us.
This entry was written for therealljidol 10.20: “Open Topic." I have no idea what has possessed me to spill out my complete mental breakdown of the past weekend, but I suspect it has to do with the compliment and support the SO gave me last week, before any of this happened, about how "honest" I was being in these entries. I am not in the habit of sharing my feelings this freely and the anonymity of the internet has given me a mask to hide behind that seems to be enough to let the other masks down. I don't know, but I do feel like I should maybe apologize for the melodrama here. I genuinely do blame hormones. However, this is my journal and my journey - and this is one of the bumps in it.
If there is voting, I will share the poll. Thanks.
"That means he's growing stronger, aren't you glad?"
Of course I'm glad! I'd be devastated if something happened!
But something about feeling this child of mine move, live, grow... holy fuck. I mean, HOLY FUCK.
He is due in three months and suddenly, where before he was an idea, he is real.
And, ladies and gentlemen, I am unsure whether to be ashamed of the fact that I had a total freak out about it.
****
I'd been fighting with my aunt about my dad. And she was ranting and raving about the chaos her adult children and grandchildren are causing her, and I heard it as, "Make the same mistakes so I don't feel so goddam guilty." And I panicked, because what if...
What if I do pass down all the things I've spent 20 years trying to overcome? What if my legacy isn't progressive thought, but crippling anxiety? What if I raise an incompetent man-child who will expect his future wife/husband to do all of the emotional heavy lifting? Or chores? Or what if he's so emotionally stunted, that he never even risks looking for a spouse?
What if I cannot shield him from the negative qualities of his father's family? What if he refuses to accept reality and instead insists on rose colored glasses that show a pack of lies? What if we never figure out how to cope with the inherited OCD that may come from that line? What if they win his thoughts and he believes in the status quo?
****
And since I'm panicking about everything, while sitting on the edge of the guest bath tub, crying my eyes out at 3 a.m. while everyone (including the cat) sleeps blissfully unaware - let's just go on down the rabbit hole.
What if my SO dies? Can I raise this baby alone? Can I afford that? Can I handle that? Can I not fall apart at the seems, when the thought alone has me hysterical (and keep in mind that the SO is healthy and fine and sleeping, unaware that I'm no longer curled in his arms)?
What if I lose my job? I'm the breadwinner. How the fuck will we survive? How we will make ends meet? What if I lose my house? Where will we live? Where will we go?
What if I get sick? My immune system is compromised, so it's not so crazy a thought. How will the SO raise him? Will he insist on the same things I would have? Will he teach apathy and expecting others to take care of him is ok? (I love my SO, but I'm not blind to him.)
Hell, what if the SO just decides to leave? He swears he won't, but no one goes into a baby thinking that they are destined to be single parents. What if he walks away, care-free and scott-free and leaves me with the day to day struggles of raising a son? Will I be able to handle my own bitterness and not teach my son to hate his father? Will I be able to deal with the resentment that might arise from having no freedom, while the SO has it all? Will I be able to teach grace in the face of rage?
****
Is this hormones? Is this normal? Am I a total freak? Am I having a psychotic break? WTF is happening to me right now???
****
Eventually, I calmed down and went back to bed. I sat down on the side and took a few deep breaths. If I was lucky, I'd get maybe 3 hours of sleep before I had to be up. The boyfriend rolls over, groggy, "You okay?" he asks.
"I can't sleep," I say in response, neither lying nor being totally honest, but he's so cute when he's sleepy and I can tell him about the details later.
"Poor pumpkin," he pulls me down and into him, warm and comforting, his arms providing me a respite from the storm raging in my mind, and I bury my face in his chest. His breathing turns into snores, and to my surprise, I feel sleep climbing out of the abyss to claim me. Willingly, I fall into it.
"Be happy with what you have. Don't worry about the future." It's advice, so freely given by so many, and it mocks me as I slip into unconsciousness.
But really, what choice do I have?
****
The next day, in the gray overcast light that leaked in through the bedroom window, I ignored the people in my house for 30 minutes and climbed into the SO's arms and told him all the things that had tormented me the night before.
Open and honest communication. It's a goal in my house. It's a standard. It's often impossible and I often fail, because I would gladly suffer physical mutilation before I would be vulnerable this way.
I have screwed my courage to the sticking point, however, and I sob into his shoulder as quietly as I could so I wouldn't alert the others as to my current state of complete mental fall apart. He listens non-judgmentally, hugging me and rubbing my back.
"Are you afraid of losing me?" he asks.
"Not usually," I say back. And it's true. 95% of the time, I know that he isn't leaving me and that even if he did, I'd be fine.
"There's only one thing that will take me away," he promises and I nod. I believe him - at least, I believe his intention. Goddamn baggage from my own past is heavy and is threatening to fall out of the closet I've packed it in. "What we teach our son is our choice," he reassures me. "Do you not think you'll be a good mother?"
BAM. There it is. The FEAR that I couldn't even name the night before, cold and hard and unyielding.
"I do," he says, when I start crying harder. "I've spent my whole life looking for the woman I wanted to have babies with. I found her. You're her. You'll do a wonderful job. You've helped raise your godsons and they are happy, fun, well-adjusted kids."
The rewards of open and honest communication - faith, trust, reassurance, courage.
I was out.
Thankfully, he had enough for the both of us.
This entry was written for therealljidol 10.20: “Open Topic." I have no idea what has possessed me to spill out my complete mental breakdown of the past weekend, but I suspect it has to do with the compliment and support the SO gave me last week, before any of this happened, about how "honest" I was being in these entries. I am not in the habit of sharing my feelings this freely and the anonymity of the internet has given me a mask to hide behind that seems to be enough to let the other masks down. I don't know, but I do feel like I should maybe apologize for the melodrama here. I genuinely do blame hormones. However, this is my journal and my journey - and this is one of the bumps in it.
If there is voting, I will share the poll. Thanks.